From Eight to Tribute: The True Story
by shalom378
Summary: Years before Katniss and Peeta's epic love story, romance blooms in a most unusual place- District Eight. But what will the Hunger Games do to a couple in love?


**Hi everyone- thanks sooo much for reading! Please post a review- it makes my day :)**

My legs burn with exertion, but I have to keep running. The leafy foliage whips by in a blur as I streak past, leaping over logs and ducking under branches. Even all my efforts can't mask the sound of Tobin's heavy footfalls and labored breathing in hot pursuit. "Where are you, District 8!" he yells. I spy some vines to my left and dive into them, finding myself in a tent-like cave. Through the vines I see Tobin burst over a hedge, just a yard away from where I was standing. His forehead is slick with sweat, and he wields a wicked-looking knife. I press myself to the back of the covering and my fingertips find sturdy rock. Tobin must've heard me, because he whips around and faces my direction, and my heart falters as he clomps toward my hideout. Hacking away at the branches that are in his way, a chill runs down my spine when he stops directly in front of the vines. I flatten myself against the rock wall, but one fatal slip of my hand sends a cascade of pebbles down the rocks. In a flash, Tobin slices away the vines and has me in a headlock, pressed up against his damp, heaving chest. "Time to cut down the Willow tree," he spits roughly in my ear, and brings his knife up to my cheek. Just then, a slim form leaps from the bushes, knocking Tobin and I to the ground. Tobin's arm is still digging into my neck, and fuzzy stars are creeping into my vision. The figure leaps on top of Tobin and stabs his wrist with a sharp thorn, and Tobin releases me with a yelp. I roll over and lift myself up on my elbows, sucking in deep breaths of air, the fuzzy stars gradually disappearing. Out of the corner of my eye I see Cato still on the ground, knife in hand, and the figure sprinting towards me. Then I see the knife as it leaves Tobin's hand, and the sickening _thud _of the impact on the figure's shoulder. As the form falls, the face catches in a patch of light and I gasp. "Soren!" I scream. Then Tobin's spiked boot fills my vision and I black out.

_A child's laughter fills the air. Two children, a boy about twelve years old and a girl in her teens, sit on a wooden log outside of a small house. "Okay, my turn," says the girl, tossing her curly, honey-brown mane over her shoulder. She clears her throat, then says in a squeaky voice, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" The boy bursts out in a staccato laugh and says, "The infamous Effie Trinket!" The girl grins and nods. "Yep! See? The Reaping isn't that scary, we just have to make light of the things we can. And since there's no way whatsoever that either of our names..." The girl trails off when she sees the boy's face cloud with worry. "There isn't any way... right, Willow?" The girl pulls the boy into a hug and strokes his hair. "No, Elk," she says softly. "No chance at all."_

I am in that fuzzy place between blessed sleep and cold reality. My heavy lids flutter weakly and my face feels like it's on fire. When I awake for real about an hour later, I ignore my pounding head and push myself to a sitting position. Looking around, I find myself in the same place I had been in when Tobin knocked me unconscious. He must have decided I was pretty near death to leave me unfinished. I carefully touch my burning cheek and find that the entire left side of my face is covered in hundreds of tiny, raised puncture wounds. _Brutal boots for a brutal boy_, I think, when suddenly I remember. I shove myself off the ground to stand and search for... "Soren!" Spying a crumpled form a few feet away, my feet involuntarily take me to his side, and I fall into a little heap beside his still body. I brush a lock of his auburn hair from his pale forehead. When I find a butterfly of a pulse at his neck, I check the rest of his body for wounds. Unzipping the customary Hunger Games jacket reveals a ragged, bloody wound on his right shoulder, about two inches wide and three inches deep. I close my eyes to block out the sickening sight. _I wish Rhayven were here_.

_ "Rhayven!" Willow calls. A young girl with long, black hair fights through the crowd and comes to stand by Willow's side. "Hi Willow," she says softly, then takes the girl's hand and places a small vial in her upturned palm. "Here," she says, "it's from my mother's apothecary shop. It fights off the Fever. It will help Elk." Willow carefully pockets the precious gift. Thank you doesn't seem enough to the girl, so she takes Rhayven's hand and squeezes it. The day of the Reaping is the hardest day of the year- the emotional stress, the loss of a friend, the hopelessness of it all. District 8 has never won the Games, and in Willow's mind never will. Willow looks across the dirt path aisle and sees Elk with all the other boys his age. His face is deathly pale and his eyes bloodshot. The announcer, Jace Leander, mounts the platform and picks up a small microphone. "Hello. Welcome to the 72nd annual Hunger Games Reaping," he says in a flat, monotone voice, "And now, a message from the Capitol." The twenty-foot tall television suspended from the platform wall lights up, and a video of President Snow sitting on an elaborate throne plays. "Attention, residents of District Eight. Due to the rebellious mutiny your district committed against the Peacekeeper's and their meeting house…" Willow remembers that night, huddling in her mother's bed while flashes of fire from the window illuminated shadowy figures on the wall. Three men were shot. The president continues. "…there has been a rule change to this year's Reaping." The crowd bursts into mutterings of protest and confusion. A rule change? Virtually impossible. "Everyone in District Eight, including those over the age of eighteen, will be entered into the drawing. May the odds be ever in your favor." The screen goes black, but the mocking silhouette of the president's smile burns a hole in Willow's eyelids as she tries to make sense of the new rule. It hits her just as it does everyone else, and the groans and moans of the crowd is over powering as Willow realizes- her older cousins, her mother, her aunts and uncles, grandparents and friends are all possible victims of the Capitol's hate. She shoves this thought out of her mind and replaces it with the knowledge that only a few slips in thousands are the odds. Then Jace ascends the stage stairs again and he has to yell into the microphone to be heard above the anguished laments and weepings of the assembled town. "And now for our lady tribute!" Jace approaches the glass ball the size of a small child and plunges his hand into the mass of paper, then surfaces with one life-changing slip. A hush falls over the throng as Jace reads, "Rosaline Meadows." The array of thirty or so mothers standing under an old oak tree parts, and out steps a beautiful young woman in her early thirties, her soft brown eyes widening in shock as she steps out from the safety of her friends. The crowd groans in dismay when they notice the woman's stomach- her slim frame accented with a large bump full of life. Willow watches in horror as four peacekeepers in starch-white uniform escort her mother and unborn sibling down the dirt path to their doom._

I close my eyes to fight back tears at what I'm put up against. Night's falling, and soon Soren's wound won't be my only problem. I get up and search in the underbrush for some type of plant that I might remember as a healing component. Then I spy a patch of tall, thin stalks, with twenty or so tiny white flowers on the top, giving the illusion of one large flower. My face splits in a rare smile when I remember Rahyven's words from when we were little girls. We were playing tag inside her house when I fell and scraped my knee on the brick flooring. When Rhayven saw my injury, she ran outside and came back with one of these plants. "It's yarrow," she said, then barely flinched before popping three of the spidery leaves in her mouth. After much protesting from my part, I finally consented to let her put the mush on my wounded knee. Immediately, I sighed in pleasure. There was a soothing sensation, and the blood stopped flowing. "Yarrow is an antiseptic plant, and the leaves work as a clot to stop blood," Rhayven told me. So I scoop up and armful of the pungent-smelling plants and lay them in a pile beside Soren. I sit cross-legged beside the pile and strip a stalk of its leaves, then toss them in my mouth, making a face as the bitter taste bursts across my tongue. I spit the wad into my hand and gently pull back Soren's blood-crusted coat from his wound. Then I carefully smear the chewed leaves on the gash. Soren moans and his head moves slightly. "Soren?" I whisper. "It's me, Willow. I need you to wake up, okay? Please, Soren, wake up!"A tear drips off of my nose and lands on his forehead. His hand, cradled in mine, twitches. "Soren?" I ask, barely daring to hope. He coughs weakly, and squints up at me "Willow? Where… where are we?" I smile as another tear falls on his neck. "You don't remember? Oh, I'm so glad you're awake! How does your shoulder feel?" He reaches up with a shaky hand and touches the edge of his shoulder, than winces. "Well, slightly better than my head. I think I hit a rock when I fell." He frowns. "What about you? What happened to your face?" I tenderly sweep his rich brown bangs from his brow. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. As for you, I'm sure Hex can dig into our now bountiful sponsor fund," I say with sarcasm. Hex, our mentor, has been much less than generous with presents form the Capitol- not that we've needed any until now. I look up, noticing the enveloping twilight for the first time. "We need to find cover," I say to Soren. "Can you move at all?" He bravely pushes himself up with his elbows, but his face drains of color and I tell him to lie down again. While he regains color, I scurry around to gather pine branches and pine needles, and make a sort of lean-to against a tree. I help Soren up, then wedge myself under his good arm and half-drag him to the covering. "My head is _killing_ me," he complains, propped up against the tree. I give him a disapproving look and he says sheepishly, "Sorry. Bad choice of words. What I'm stressing is- my head hurts. A lot." I take his hand in sympathy, and we sit like this for awhile until it starts to rain. The downpour drips through our makeshift house, so I rummage through the backpack I snatched on the first day. I come up with a sheet of plastic and a thin flannel blanket. With the plastic shielding us from the drips and the blanket tucked around our legs, I'm just dozing off when something falls into my lap. I jerk awake and accidentally bump Soren. "Ouch!" he cries. "Sorry," I say absentmindedly, "But look!" I hold up what I now recognize as a parachute, with a small metal canister attached to it about the size of my palm. I unscrew the cap of the silver receptacle, and out slides three circular, red pills and a slip of paper. I read the note aloud. "_I'm choosing to ignore any snarky comments made against me. Give him one every four hours. Be safe; Hex._" Within ten minutes of taking the medication Soren is fast asleep. I watch him sleep for awhile, the peaceful rise of his chest and his sleep-flushed cheeks. Eventually I drift off, and my dreams take me to the day of the Reaping.

_My pulse booms in my ears and I feel Rhayven gripping my elbow. I must have fallen. I see Elk's terrified face across the aisle, and that image snaps me back to reality. "Mom," I say in a raw, scratchy whisper. Then I cry "Mom!" I duck under the railings and dash past the guards, then lunge for my mother. "Please Willow," my mother says, reaching over the guards' restraint and stroking my hair, "Go take care of Elk." I step forward again to try and stop her, to keep her safe, but the peacekeepers are ready for me. Two of them come off the stage and take my arms with strong grips, wrestling me back to where Rhayven is. My mind whirls, and in one desperate resort I scream "I volunteer!" The peacekeepers stop, and my mother whips around. "Willow, no! You can't! I won't…" But it's too late, and the officials have already started to take my mother back to her place. My guards march me to the platform, and I ascend the stairs with shaky steps. Jace holds the microphone up to my mouth and says so only I can hear, "Say your name." I clear my throat and blink to hold back tears. "Willow Meadows." Jace gets a pained look on his face, then seems to recover and takes back the mic. "And now for the boy tribute." Jace's hand comes up with a slip of paper from the boy's side, and he coughs nervously. "Well, looks like we've got a pattern going on." A pattern? My brain tries to make sense of the meaning, and it clicks just as Jace reads, "Elk Meadows." My jaw drops open when I see my baby brother, his pale face turning a shade paler, walking beside two officials. I look down at my pink sandals to hide the tears streaking down my face from the Capitol's cameras. I'm completely and utterly helpless to this horror and monstrosity known as the Hunger Games, and I feel nausea roiling up in my stomach when a voice rings out. "I volunteer!" I look up to see a young boy about my age, with shaggy chestnut hair and misty grey eyes push through the crowd to stand in front of my brother. Elk stumbles back, confused, then runs to the comfort of my mother. The officials plant the tall boy beside me, and I want to ask him so many things, but with the amount of cameras on us I think it not wise. Jace holds the microphone in front of the boy, and he says in a clear, calm voice, "Soren Cedrics." After the anthem is played, there is a flurry of peacekeepers and I am escorted into a small room to wait for my family to come say goodbye. When the door opens, Elk and my mother are shoved in by a peacekeeper. Elk rushes over and I hug him tightly, our tears spilling and mingling onto my simple blue dress. "I love you, Elk." He looks up with teary eyes and nods, then steps back and lets my mother take over. I reach over her bulging stomach and let her arms engulf me. "I prayed this would never happen to you," she whispers, "But I know you are a strong girl." I knew she wasn't talking about my physical abilities, but my spirit. I lean down and kiss her stomach, letting a tear fall. Then a guard enters and drags my family out. Just before the door slams, Elk calls out, "I love you too, and I-" but then the door is closed and I am left alone. By the time I am chaperones top the tribute train, I have formed a desperate plan._

Sunlight streams through the pine branches and I open my eyes. When I reach out for Soren, my fingers find only cool pine needles. I sit up, alarmed. "Soren?" I call, then worm my way out of the tent. Finding no trace of Soren outside, I start to get frantic. "Soren?" I call louder, then run down the slope and crash through the brush, searching for a trail, a hint... then I see him, bent over a small stream washing his face. I take a deep breath to calm my shaking hands, then join him cross-legged on the bank. He looks up, happy to see me, and somehow that makes me angry. I frown and give his good shoulder a light punch. "Hey, what was that for?" he exclaims, the smile fading from his lips. "You didn't hear me calling?" I say crossly. He shrugs. "Guess not," he says lightly, combing through his hair with his fingers. I glare at him, then (finding it hard to be angry at him for very long) ask politely, "Lost in thought?" "Yes, actually," Soren says, "I was just thinking of the train." His eyes find mine, and I shake my head to remind him that our conversation is being broadcasted all over Panem. He drops his eyes down to his hands in his lap and whispers, "I'm just- so glad I stopped you."

_I cup my chin in my palm and watch the scenery whiz by. "This Capitol-made super train can travel over 300 miles per hour!" says our escort, Melanie Heffal, as if either of us care. Soren sits across from me in an overstuffed chair, staring absently at the golden chandelier hanging from the ceiling. I decide to put my last plan into action. I stand up and curtly ask Melanie where the washroom is, and she points me down the hall and to the left. I start off down the corridor when I remember something. Before my mind is changed, I turn back and cross over to Soren's chair, then lean down and whisper, "Thank you." He looks up, confused but before he has time to question I'm already off down the hall. I walk into the bathroom and lock the door. The walls are decorated with the seal of Panem, and the counter holds a vase of white roses. I smile and take out the roses, then toss them into the wastebasket and dump the water down the drain. I hold the vase high above the granite floors, then let it slide from my fingers. It shatters, and shards of glass fly everywhere. I throw my hands up to protect my face and wince as some bounce off my palms. Footsteps are in the corridor, and I hurriedly pick up the largest piece of glass and position it over my left wrist. Just as I'm about to cut away my lifeline, Soren knocks and says, "Willow? What happened? Are you okay?" I whisper under my breath, "No, but I'm about to get a lot better." I bear down on the corner of my wrist, and an angry red welt appears. My tears mix with the trail of blood running down my arm. "I can't do it," I whisper, and half-sit, half-collapse onto a wooden chair. Just then, the door is thrown open, and two peacekeepers and Soren burst in. The first peacekeeper grabs my arm roughly, but Soren says, "I can handle this." The guards leave reluctantly. Soren steps around the glass-covered flooring and retrieves a box of bandages from the cupboard above the sink, then comes to my side and tenderly cleans and wraps my wrist with sterile white gauze. I watched his face, crinkled with concern, and ask, "Why do you care?" He stops working and reaches to take my good hand, then stares deep into my eyes. _

_"Because __they__ don't."_

I shake my head to clear my thoughts and will away the tears pricking my eyes. Soren helps me to my feet, and we make our way back to the lean-to. Leaning back against a tree, he says, "Have I ever told you the story of my brother and the textile factory?" I lean my head on his shoulder and he puts his arm around me. "Well, as you already know, our district is famous for fabrics and textiles. My little brother, Quill, and I were waiting in the sewing room for my mother to get off of work. Quill backed up against a GIANTsewing machine and accidentally hit the _on _button. The needle started clacking up down, up down, and caught a stray thread on Quill's shirt. I was laughing so hard by the time I turned the machine off, Quill's sweater was unraveled up to his belly button!" I laughed, the first genuine laugh I've had in a long time. Soren beams, then says, "This sounds cheesy, but when you laugh, it's like the sun shines brighter." I blush and roll my eyes. "You're right. That _was _cheesy."

**How'd ya like it? If i get good reviews, I'll type the rest up. Thanks again!**


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